The Devil Wears Prada [Iain/Estelle]

[Deleted]

Be charming, be disarming

Well then, tonight's the night. Estelle's stance was cattish and almost laxed to the point of lazy upon where she stood - a curious thing indeed, seeing how she was currently perched upon the sloped roof of Britain's most heavily guarded building, third only to the Parliament and Buckingham Palace, of course. Said building was none other than the laboratory of the elite researchers, the very brain behind the MI6 force of the United Kingdom. Estelle also believed that they affectionately refer to it as 'Melinda'. It was about time to get to work then - midnight was fast escaping. Now was just the perfect time; late enough that the usual crowd that flocked the halls of this building would be tucked away in bed, and yet not too late for an unexpected guest to pop by - especially if it's an agent who had returned from a classified infiltration mission. The sides of her lips quirked up in a smile as Estelle tugged off a single leather glove from her hand, revealing a ring upon a finger fashioning the most exquisite diamond solitaire. Yet much like its owner, the gem possessed much more than it appeared. It would only reveal its true potential in the toughest of situations - and that was what Estelle exactly needed. Lowering her ring against the glass panes of the rooftop window, Estelle carved out a circle just large enough for a slender form such as hers to slip through. Thankful for the quick reactions she was blessed with, Estelle managed to snag the hefty piece of glass before it shattered against the ground below. It was a long way down, she calculated with a judging eye, but nothing she couldn't handle. Setting the glass aside and replacing her ring with the glove, Estelle slanted one last smile at her fashion accessory. Diamonds truly are a girl's best friend. The rest was the easy part; gliding down the hole and landing with a barely audible click upon her heels, and she was in. Thank goodness she had the security disabled beforehand. What couldn't money buy - oh right, not a contract loyalty. Phase one, completed; now onto phase two. Ever wonder how the baddies had their share of questionable technology? Sure, they have their mad scientists here and there, but they're such fragile things and they die ever so easily. (Estelle speaks from personal experiences.) So the lawless being just that, simply do that they do best - steal it from the good guys. From plans to prototypes to those that have been perfected and manufactured, as long as they could get their hands on them, then finder's keepers. Slipping on a pair of sunglasses that filtered a rough map of the building's interior straight to a one way view, Estelle made a couple of turns right and left to her desired destination - straight to the heart of the inventions. And came face-to-face, with a lock. Brilliant. Because they couldn't just do a simple thumb scanner for the lock on the door - Estelle could have just sliced off someone's thumb for that - no. They had to go all out; eyes, thumbs, voice and even... Ha. The researchers must be very proud of their arses as well. And this was what she paid a mini fortune for. Sighing, Estelle fished out a tiny disc, no bigger than the shell of her palm. It was an invention from one of those mad scientists - the ultimate lock-breaker. (Estelle made sure it lived up to its name by throwing said scientist into a room with a ticking time bomb, closed off by layers and layers of random high tech. security. It worked. He survived, just barely.) Placing it upon the scanner, she took a step back and simply let the device do its work, unenabling all the security layers one by one, till the last finally surrendered with a defiant 'click'. Bingo. Thankfully the lab was empty, but with the lights and system still on at full speed ahead, Estelle reckoned that someone simply left for a coffee break - and would be back very shortly. She advanced towards a scatter of files, rapidly flipping through them and scanning them for any particular info. Paper work here and there, with the odd pieces of badly scribbled grocery lists. And then finally, she found it. She found-- Wait. What was that? Footsteps, she was certain, and that were far too close to the door. There was no time to escape. Breathing another sigh, Estelle pocketed her newly found toy-to-be and steadied her shoulders. Be charming, be disarming. All in a day's work.

word count :: 778 tagged :: Who’s there? notes :: update~

made by CAPTAIN of BACK TO NEVERLAND

[Deleted]

all blades in the shadows are close to you

Does one know the reason why breaks are so amazing in the first place? They let you temporary escape the hell, to escape the misery and pain to replace it with something much better. The muscles that were tense had relaxed; any negative thoughts had vanished into thin air. So when Iain found himself all alone in the lab, he took a break. It was late, all the agents would be sleeping by now. A simple break for whatever is left remaining is good enough. It's not like anyone was going to be in the lab or some agent is going to send an SOS message over the radio. So, he got up and left the lab, leaving the lights on. He didn't plan on leaving work, it was just a break. He'll probably going to just get some coffee and return with a mug full of it. Yet he did leave the usual security up and running. Who knows? There might be some stray government official or higher up that wants to take a look. He isn't going to let them enter so easily when he's out. This was his turf over all. Tap tap tap tap. That was the sound of his footsteps leaving the lab for his drink. Unknown to him of course, that someone actually did get into the MI6 and that someone was actually able to break in. Of course, the absence of one researcher poked his mind, served as a warning. However, he became comfortable with the security of MI6. A rocket was bounced off it it after all - and with no damage taken. Yes, very comfortable with the security here. He waited, leaning against the counter. Waiting for the time to tick by - with very little thought about how much trouble is happening at this very moment. He was taking his time, humming a song, tapping a beat. He was waiting with no idea at all. Beep, beep, beep. Oh, the coffee is done. With that, he took a mug and poured it in, the warmth of it penetrating his leather gloves. His hand cupped around it for a moment - inhaling the scent. Honestly, there isn't a lot of coffee drinking in Scotland and the most would be instant. Anything brewed would be at the Starbucks, but who would want to pay £10 for a medium sized coffee? No one that's who. Which was why it's perhaps best to enjoy this coffee. More steps to return to his little corner in the lab. He hasn't taken a sip of his drink yet, but that was fine. He can take his time drinking it, no rush. No rush at all. He didn't hear much of anything, for it was his footsteps that caused an echoing sound down the hall. Everything was drowned out - he was unprepared, very unprepared. When he made that turn, he wasn't expecting much. He thought that the lab would be empty, he thought that no one would be pointing at him with just a plastic model of a prototype. It was a plastic model, the only pain it's gonna inflict is if it was thrown at him and the hot coffee gets split on him. Of course, the intruder that was holding it. He knew her all to well - from files, camera recordings, getting into any of the local surveillance cameras. She was an often sight. A sight to behold and to be wary about. She was a danger and yet how to say it? No words are coming into mind at the moment. He could have arrested her then and there. But, knowing Iain - be was bored. Of course, he doesn't really know if she actually did get any vital information - and of course, if she left with it that would mean rather big trouble... "Ye hink ye can actually hurt me wi' 'at plastic model noo?" He was calm, almost grinning even. Perhaps it wasn't the wises of choices, but hey. This was his turf.

made by CAPTAIN of BACK TO NEVERLAND

[Deleted]

What harm could I do?

Well, isn't this surprising - a boss match with the Quartermaster himself. Estelle was such a lucky miss, really; of all people it could have been, it just had to be the god of the MI6 who'd waltz through that door. He was the brains behind it all, the engine that kept the agency functioning. And he was entirely aware of who she is as well. So that meant: Plan C. (Don't worry, she had 23 more alphabets to go.) "Hello, sweetie." She greeted with a smile and a fluttering of fingers. Best be cordial with the master of the house. First impressions are everything, after all. While Estelle knew of 'Q', the mysterious Quartermaster of the MI6, and even had a face to match it with, this was the first time she ever had the pleasure of encountering him in person. She believed it worked likewise for the redhead as well - he would have recognised her face from their files of villains and baddies. Estelle rather prided herself in being one of the UK's Top Threats and having her presence in the hall of infamy. In her other hand, Estelle now grasped a plastic model, something she had quickly scooped up from the table before the Quartermaster stepped in. Estelle had an advantage here, and the battle was already half-won in her favour; her prize was safely pocketed and she had memorised what she could in that brief moment of time. Now all that was left was to exit with style, stage left. Admittedly, Estelle thought as she eyed the bulk of muscles that stood between her and the route out, escaping would be easier said than done. "Ye hink ye can actually hurt me wi' 'at plastic model noo?" Oh, that smug man. She could see it in his smile - that smirk of one who thinks he is safe in his turf. Ah, but wasn't that a fatal flaw? History was plagued with the fall of many great empires and great men caused by overconfidence - and women. "Oh, how very wrong you are, my darling; you'll be surprised how fragile the human body actually is," Estelle replied. "For instance, did you know that there's a vein on your jugular in which pressing it for ten seconds could result in death?" "Or perhaps I should try shoving this down your throat," She mused, fingering the sharp edge of the model. "Hitting the sweet spot would cause you to gag and retch for a good five minutes." Her tone was light and conversational, as if the two of them were merely engaged in small talk about the dull weather, and are not, in truth, foes that would endanger their own lives. "But pardon me. How awfully rude of me to present such threats upon our first meeting. You must be Q," She acknowledged. "I must say, you were not at all how I expected. And here I thought that all inventors were pale, bony creatures who resides permanently in their labs. But you, sweetie - you are so much more..." Her words trailed off with a coquettish smile as her wandering eyes told of all that was unsaid. Estelle had always liked her men to be just that - men, and not gangly little boys who have not seen a single gym equipment in all of their life. And Estelle always did have a thing for sexy men in kilts. "We're in a rather awkward situation here, but I'm sure we can talk this out like reasonable adults," Here, Estelle turned, trailing her hand slowly along the edge of the table. Some might call it an utterly retarded move to turn her back against the enemy, but Estelle was nothing if not fearless - and fast. She was relatively certain that the Scot wouldn't just lunge at her like that - he would spill his coffee otherwise - but even if he tried, the Frenchwoman was agile and swift. "I would rather settle this over a cup of coffee another day, actually," She did not even bother to mask the intent in her purr. "Though I would rather drink a Scotch if it's all the same to you." Because in Estelle's book, asking the enemy out on a date is entirely acceptable if he looks like he would make a good shag. "You don't have to be afraid of me, sweetie. I'm just a lovely little lass," She blinked at him, eyes wide with faux innocence. "What harm could I do?" Now she was braced against the table, facing the Quartermaster directly. He was nought but a few strides away, and she smiled at him coyly, challengingly, just daring him to come closer towards her. Estelle could feel the outline of her gun against her sides, tucked out of view under her suit. But this mafia boss was not inclined to using it. True, this was certainly a sticky situation and a well-aimed shot would be more than apt to salvage it, but what others use brute force and violence to crawl their way out from, Estelle would accomplish it with simply her wit and style. It was a game of chess and she had made her first move. "So what say you, my silly little sweetheart?" Now it was his turn - Iain Lachlann Stuart-Kirkland.

word count :: 900 tagged :: the sexy Scot notes :: Iain in a kilt.

made by CAPTAIN of BACK TO NEVERLAND

[Deleted]

all blades in the shadows are close to you

Her voice - that’s what he first noticed. How to describe it? It was... different, smooth - as if she knew that she had a way with words. That she was confident even with the current situation. That was a tone of a woman who had much power at the tips of her fingers. But of course, he already knew how she looked like, her tendencies, he could infer about her personality, but what would tell him that what was truth or an act? He was carefully keeping both eyes on her. Moments before, one would have guessed that he would be this reckless since he had home advantage. But of course, one can never be too careful for she had flexibility (and was known for the most parkour of stunts). He may be standing at the only exit in the lab, but she could still slip through. If anything at all, being on his home turf just adds more pressure that letting her escape is... bad, really bad. He stood there, with his coffee in hand and still steaming as she went on about how easy for it for a person to die, that using that plastic model can cause. But of course, this was only assuming if he was just like everyone else that was going to freeze on the spot on the sight of impending doom. Even if he was a researcher, the man gave effort to saying fit. After all, he wasn’t like the rest of them that needs help with everything. He can carry the heavy boxes, if there’s a tight bot that needs loosening, he’ll do it himself. Not to mention, the common (drunk) brawls are not strangers to him. Yet this situation doesn’t call for brute strength - it was much more complicated than that. No, it required wordplay or otherwise known as speechcraft... … Oh god, stop making references to Peter’s games, the theme from it had already infected the family. Stupid Skyrim. ”But pardon me. How awfully rude of me to present such treats upon our first meeting. You must be Q.” So she too knows his identity. A slight surprise, but the ginger kept the same expression that was lingering on his visage. ”I must say, you were not at all how I expected. And here I thought that all inventors were pale, bony creatures who resides permanently in their labs. But you, sweetie - you are so much more...” The look in her eyes finished the rest of the sentence - Iain could notice it, how his body build perhaps indeed caught her off by surprised. When the new agents were sent to look for Q, they didn’t expect a ginger that’s well... masculine at all. Nope, Iain liked seeing their reaction. Her reaction was no exception. The Scotsman hummed, seeming just as relaxed as she is. ”Aye, like whit ye see?" He asked, gesturing to himself. But of course, one would expect that since he’s Quartermaster, he would have arrested her right then and there. If not, he wouldn’t be asking in such a laid-back manner, he should be tense, cautious, almost inching to something instead of holding onto his coffee mug. He could have suspected after all, that this lady would have a gun on her. Of course it would be obvious, who the hell breaks into MI6 unarmed? Yet, he was going with a gut feeling - nothing in his book said that he can’t flirt with pretty lassies, even if they are criminals. They call him a loyal hound? This hound find loopholes in everything, it’s a hobby of his. And really, spilling his hard made coffee would be quite a shame. He was just as fearless as she was as he took a slip of his coffee, yet eyes still observing her - the way how her body curved, the way how she purred her responses to him. She was confident, she was able to gain something from within this room - but whatever she took was unknown to him. There were too many things in this room that might be considered, ‘useless’. ”So what say you, my silly little sweetheart?” This was a game he was playing, and now it’s his turn. So, what shall he do? He brought the mug down - the coffee was quite exquisite... at least for a British man’s standard (and you know how low that is). ”If ye willin’ tae pay fur yer own bottle, Ah might think aboot joinin’ ye oan ‘at offer ay scotch.” He chimed in after he thought about it. ”Th’ Glengoyne 21 year old scotch is a guid one, have ye tried it yet?” The old classic Highland single malt scotch, now that’s a beauty. There’s only one bottle waiting for him at home, but no one is going to touch that now. He took a couple of steps forward, brave and bold. Daring even. He wasn’t as tense and he wasn’t as stiff. In fact, he made himself comfortable leaning against the table that this mafia leader was sitting on, right next to her as he placed the coffee down on the table. “Nae one said ‘at Ah can’t talk tae a bonnie lassie like ye.”

made by CAPTAIN of BACK TO NEVERLAND

[Deleted]

Like what you see sweetie?

Tonight was definitely a night to remember. Neither of the two could keep their eyes off each other; other than for the obvious rule of never turning one's back to the enemy, there was an undeniable attraction that existed between them, even if they had only met for a mere minute. Lust at first sight, she believed as others would coin it. One man, one woman; just about anything could happen - including an utterly flawless escape. He was pleased by her attention, it seemed, not bothering to mask that smidge of pride at being appreciated for his physique. She should have guessed that the MI6 would have an ace up their sleeves; having such a formidable Quartermaster only ensured a good deal of difficulty for whoever straddled with the task of elimination or kidnap--- Ah. Ahh. There, a brilliant thought came to mind and a small smile touched upon Estelle's lips. Iain must certainly have his suspicions about her uninvited (but not entirely unwelcomed) presence in the lab, but for all he knew, the reason could just very well be a common social call to... kidnap the Quartermaster. One would never know. "Aye, like whit ye see?" Ooh, that accent. The world was sorely mistaken if they thought that the English accent was the sexiest; they have clearly never been in the delightful presence of a Scotsman. "Oui." She purred, sincerity in her words. He appeared rather laid-back about this whole situation; in fact, there wasn't really much else happening except for inappropriate, blatant flirting. Natheless, Estelle took heed of not underestimating Iain Lachlann Stuart-Kirkland; a brilliant mind protected by a strong, capable body, he was a threat and a match, but oh-so lacking in grace. Even his wandering gaze was utterly inelegant, Estelle sighed with a smile. "Like what you see, sweetie?" She quipped right back, casually tucking a stray lock behind her ear and trailing a finger down the curve of her neck, between the valley of her breasts and smoothly return her arm to rest by her side. If he was going to stare, Estelle should at least give him a good show; she was such a good girl, after all. "If ye willin’ tae pay fur yer own bottle, Ah might think aboot joinin’ ye oan ‘at offer ay scotch. Th’ Glengoyne 21 year old scotch is a guid one, have ye tried it yet?" They were making a date, and it felt entirely natural and acceptable - social status be damned. "Oh, yes. That one was delightful, though I have to say I'm more of a Glengoyne 17 lass," Estelle recalled the taste fondly, and also recalled equally fondly that she had left the bill on a poor, unfortunate (drunken) soul. Ah, joy. "I always prefer my things sweet, plus a taste of spicy and sexy." She wasn't just talking about alcohol now. Surprised as she was when Q started his stride towards her, Estelle did not allow it to reflect upon her visage, even offering a welcoming smile as he settled right by her. "Nae one said ‘at Ah can’t talk tae a bonnie lassie like ye." "A bonnie lassie, eh? Oh, you flatter me, sweetie; you're making me blush. Do you really think I'm pretty?" Estelle's fingers fluttered in mock modesty. She brushed against him briefly, and there was a queer tingle that raced under her skin. Perhaps it was the thrill of the moment, the adrenaline of this sticky situation, but that touch felt simply electrifying. And Estelle wanted more. "Tell me then, sweetie, did anyone say anything about touching 'my kind'? Any rules about associating with me?" She leant in, her hand a gentle cradle against his face. There was barely a whisper of space between them and she could almost feel the heat from him. Ever wondered how peppermint lip gloss with aphrodisiacs tastes like? Her breath ghosted over his lips as she smiled into the almost contact. "But then again, I am a Lawless. What do I care about what people say? Rules are meant to be broken, after all." Estelle said. And then pulled away. "Unfortunately, I don't do kisses before the first date, sweetie." That was a total lie, but Estelle was ever such a tease. She then proceeded to commit the greatest act of offence ever, at least so as considered by any proud British man - she picked up Iain's mug and drank his coffee. It wasn't anywhere close to Starbucks, but it was already rather well-made, given that it was done by a Brit. "So, darling, is this a typical night for you then? Stuck with over time at ungodly hours, with a lawless woman for company, or am I special?" She teased, taking another sip and leaving a distinct scarlet mark on the porcelain cup. Coffee droplets clung to her lips and Estelle had to admit, the strong taste was growing on her. Her lips curled into another coy smile, enjoying the attention on her. "I bet you're wondering why I'm here. Simply put, I have come to steal the Quartermaster away," She declared, trailing her fingers along his jawline. "But of course, I see now that it would be quite troublesome to move you myself. It's unlikely someone of my size can move someone of yours." "So how about it, sexy? Any way I can convince you to come willingly? How about going on a little adventure with me?" She tapped his lips playfully. It was all a game of chance and risk here; she was being touchy and a tease, he was tolerant and interested. Estelle was in a vulnerable position physically - all he had to do was shift and she would be trapped and caught between him. Her gamble was on that the notion has not occurred to him yet, but even if it had and he proceeds to do as such, even if Iain Lachlann Stuart-Kirkland has reach, she has flexibility. Now to wait for the perfect chance to escape.

word count :: 1003 tagged :: that silly little sweetheart notes :: *MOLESTS PRETTY TEMPLATE*

made by CAPTAIN of BACK TO NEVERLAND

[Deleted]

all blades in the shadows are close to you

"Dornt dae kisses eh? Ah'pose we aught tae fix 'at." Iain hummed, smirk never leaving, and gaze ever breaking, even if she had pulled away after closing so much distance in between. Though, whether he meant by either making sure that they have their 'first date' or just break her little habit, was unsure. The reason for not knowing would be that she drank his coffee in front of him. His coffee. The damned coffee he made just for him. Of course, he shouldn't be angry, or annoyed. It was just coffee, he shouldn't be. A good gentleman should always share - willingly or not. That was no skin off his nose, he could always make another cup of coffee, later. He however kept his calm expression, he can't really show that the fact that about the whole situation with his coffee was slightly bothering him. He cannot show it, not at all. It would be sin to even think about doing so - at least for the Quartermaster. "Aye, half true, Aam always stuck haur in these 'ungodly hoors' - someain has tae dae it." He chose to remain at such late hours - his service was that to the Queen, an oath he cannot break (yet). "Though, Ah'd usually hae annoyin' company loike th' other researchers. T'nicht's must be mah lucky nicht~" There she goes again, taking another sip. Keeping up his game it was his turn to make a move - physically. Arms crossed, and turning his head towards her, he spoke. "Kidnappin'? Wa woods anyone want tae kidnap me? Aam jist a bloke tryin' tae make a livin'." Lies, both he and she knew that he knew that she knew the truth. "Folk don't come fur th' workers, they come fur what's inside." He hummed. Pretty or not, he still had his job - and his allegiance.

made by CAPTAIN of BACK TO NEVERLAND

[Deleted]

Cinderella has to run, dearie

Liar, liar. Pants on fire. Metaphorically, of course. Though it would certainly be amusing to see burning fabric in such a setting. Or maybe their noses might grow like Pinocchio's. Inwardly, Estelle chuckled at how off-tangent her thoughts were at times. But the Quartermaster was quite a good liar, the mafia boss had to admit. Unflinching, collected and with barely any skips or pauses in his words. Unfortunately for him, Estelle was trained to spot a liar, like how bloodhounds are taught to sniff out their prey. The unconscious twitching of his eyes towards the left, the dilation of his pupils; this was what people meant when they say that the eyes were the windows to one's soul. Iain Lachlann Stuart-Kirkland had his open wide for Este to see. "Kidnappin'? Wa woods anyone want tae kidnap me? Aam jist a bloke tryin' tae make a livin'." "I wouldn't call you 'jist a bloke', my darling," Estelle smiled, setting down the mug. "There are many willing to pay more than a pretty dime for your head, on your shoulder or off. I'm sure you know that." "Thankfully for you, I am rather insistent that you come in... one piece. It would be a shame to scar you up too badly." She hummed appreciatively as her eyes travelled down his form once more. "Folk don't come fur th' workers, they come fur what's inside." "And how would you know? Contrary to what you silly little sweeties believe, the minds of the Lawless are actually very complex. Or at least, for the better ones." Este shifted, getting her muscles prepared under the pretence of stretching. Fight or flight, either way, this waltz of words between them was almost up. The clock was ticking. Cinderella has run, dearie. "I don't hear a 'no' from you, sweetie. So how about it, do you want to come along with me? I promise to make it worth your time."

word count :: 329 tagged :: that silly little sweetheart notes :: -/div]

made by CAPTAIN of BACK TO NEVERLAND